


Wrong Side of Reality

by robin_writes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blind Dean Winchester, Dean is seventeen, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mute Dean Winchester, Sam is thirteen, Weecest, Witches curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robin_writes/pseuds/robin_writes
Summary: Helen spat, taking a step towards Dean in the chair. He froze, but otherwise kept his cocky persona shrouding his fear. “Maybe we won’t kill him.” She said, considering Dean.“How charitable of you.” He said.“Maybe we’ll just make it so that he wishes he was dead.”“Well that’s fucking ominous Helen.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'Young and Menace' by Fall Out Boy

**Dean**

It was Dean’s first solo hunt and he’d gone and fucked up, royally fucked up. It had taken years for John to let Dean even take the lead on a hunt, and longer to let him hunt by himself. Fucking witches. What’re you even supposed to do with them anyway? You can’t really kill them ‘cause they’re human, but it’s not like they were gonna let a seventeen year old lecture them on the morality of using magic. He was tempted to start on the whole Spiderman spiel of ‘with great power comes great responsibility’, but before he could, the witches jumped him.

 

Dean turned up at the witches’ basecamp, which was the living room of a suburban ‘soccer mom’ ’s house, and was invited in under the pretence of being lost. His research (stalking) told him that there were only two witches, sedate ones at that. They weren’t even killing people, just messing them up. Making appendixes burst, making people go bald, and Dean’s personal favourite, making some poor bastard hard for three days straight with no relief.

 

So Dean figured he’d be polite about it. That was until someone hit him over the back of the head. He fell hard, crashing into the wood floor in the hallway. They tied him to a chair in the basement and waited for him to wake up.

 

When Dean opened his eyes, he laughed. There were three women staring nervously at him. “I mean… if you wanted me tied up, you only had to ask.” He said, winking at the witches. One of them scowled at him, Dean pegged her as the leader. “So, Sugar. I guess before we get to anything too kinky, I have to tell you… my eighteenth isn’t for a few more months. But I don’t mind.” He smirked at the leader who was still scowling at him.

“Helen, he’s just a kid. We can’t.” One of the witches turned to their leader.

“Helen is it?” Dean said. “I’m here for a good time, age don’t matter to me if it don’t matter to you.”

“Shut up.” Helen spat, taking a step towards Dean in the chair. He froze, but otherwise kept his cocky persona shrouding his fear. “Maybe we won’t kill him.” She said, considering Dean.

“How charitable of you.” He said.

“Maybe we’ll just make it so that he wishes he was dead.”

“Well that’s fucking ominous Helen.” The three left Dean in the basement, heading up the stone steps.

 

Dean thought about how John would react. He could practically see the disappointment already. And Sammy. Sammy wouldn’t say anything, just beg Dean with his big brown eyes to stay back with him next time. And that’s if the witches did what they said they would and let Dean live. If they didn’t, maybe John would figure out what had happened and come looking for the body, just to confirm Dean was dead. Maybe he’d even off the witches. Dean hoped John shot Helen between her perfectly threaded eyebrows.

 

This time, when Dean heard noise on the other side of the room, it was Helen coming back alone. He swallowed hard. Fuck. The other two witches seemed like they balanced her crazy out. “Back so soon?” He asked, slipping into the cocky bravado again.

“What can I say? I just missed that silver-tongue of yours.” The corner of Helen’s mouth turned upwards and all of Dean’s senses were going mad, screaming at him that this was bad. He pulled against the ropes that bound him, but they didn’t give. “Hey, none of that.” She said calmly, stroking his cheek. Dean spat at her, nothing left to do. “I thought maybe I’d take your words and then your eyes, and if you’re still feeling feisty, I’ll take your ears. How does that sound to you?” She was full-on beaming at him, enjoying every minute.

“Fuck you, you crazy bitch!” Dean shouted, making Helen laugh. “My dad’s gonna find you and he’s gonn-“ Dean started, but then the words stopped coming out. He was still creating the vibrations in his voice-box and throat but there was no sound. Eyes widened in panic.

“That’s better. I would toy with you a little more, but this visit of yours was unexpected to say the least. Linda and Janice were only here because we’re off to a spin class in a few minutes. So I have to make this quick.” And suddenly the lights went out.

 

Dean breathed out, relieved. His dad must be here to save him. Must’ve turned the power off. Helen just laughed louder. And then Dean remembered the window in front of him, and that it was the middle of the freaking day, and Helen’s promise to take his eyes. He was blind. He was blind and mute. What a fucking day.

 

“I’ll help you outside.” Helen said like she was doing him a fucking favour. The ropes fell and Dean felt a hand wrap around his wrist. It tugged him across the room and up the stairs. Dean didn’t pull back, he didn’t fight, he didn’t do anything except follow the witch-bitch out of her house. “I probably have to tell you that you shouldn’t come back. The ladies don’t want any more hunters coming by, it freaks them out. I don’t mind so much, especially if they’re as lively as you.” And then Helen’s hand slipped from his wrist and Dean was alone.

 

It was weird. He could feel the sun on his face but there was no sun, no light, no anything, just perpetual darkness. He had walked from the motel that morning because John was a town over with the Impala. Dean groaned silently as he realised he’d probably never be able to drive the Impala again. John was planning on giving it to Dean for his eighteenth. He wouldn’t have to now.

 

Dean walked along the path, holding the windows of the shops on his way to the motel. He almost tripped twice, and almost walked into someone once. They realised Dean was messed up in time though, and stepped out of his way.

 

When Dean got to the motel, he was eternally grateful that the motel doors had the numbers nailed into the door, so he only had to run his hand over where he thought they would be until he reached room ‘6’. He knocked loudly and then left his palms on the door so he would know when it opened.

 

It took a few seconds. “Dean?” It was Sammy. There was a long pause where Sam was expecting Dean to say something, but instead Dean pushed past his baby brother into the motel room. “What’s wrong with your eyes?” Sam asked. Dean shook his head. “They’re all milky.” Dean fell onto the couch after holding his arms out to find it. “Dean… are you blind?” Sam asked and Dean could hear the fear in his voice. He let out a breath, about to talk and then realised he couldn’t. The anger hit him with full force again. He nodded sharply at Sam and then pointed to his throat. “What’s wrong with your throat?” Dean mimed talking in the vague direction of where Sam’s voice was coming from. “Just tell me Dean. Stop with this game of charades and just tell me.” Dean screwed up his face, and maybe felt water fall onto his cheeks. Was the ceiling leaking? He poked roughly at his throat. “You can’t tell me, can you? You can’t speak.” Twenty points to fucking Gryffindor. He nodded and then moved so he was laying down on the couch, neck supported by the arm of the couch. “It was the witches, right?” Sam’s voice was closer now. Dean didn’t want to move his head to nod, so he gave Sam a thumbs up. “I’ll call dad.” Dean sighed, he let his eyelids flutter closed even though it had absolutely no bearing now on how he saw the world. It was just easier.

 

He listened to his younger brother explain the situation and then respond with clipped affirmations. “Yessir. Of course. Yessir.” The phone snapped shut. “You want a beer?” Sam asked, standing right by Dean’s head. He flinched, not having heard Sam cross the room. “Sorry.” He said when he saw the flinch. Dean shook his head. This worried Sam the most; Hell froze over before Dean rejected an offer for a beer. But Dean just wanted to go to sleep. He wanted the circus of a day to be over, and maybe Helen wasn’t as powerful as she thought she was. Maybe when he woke up he’d be able to see and speak and he wouldn’t feel so cut off from everything. Dean didn’t bother getting up from the couch, just turned over into the cushions and let himself relax, falling asleep quickly.

 

A large hand was shaking Dean’s shoulder. He groaned loudly, or well he tried to. No sound came out. _Fuck._ He opened his eyes. No light. _Double fuck._ “Dean, are you awake?” _Yessir._ He nodded. “Good. Sit up son, we have to talk.” _Fuck fuck fuck._ Dean pulled himself up so he was sitting on the couch, facing the direction of his father’s voice. “Sam told me what he could piece together, so… just nod or shake your head okay?” Dean nodded. “You went out this morning to confront the witches.” Dean nodded. “And they blinded you and took your voice?” Dean nodded. “How many were there?” Dean held up three fingers. “Were they traditional or neopagan witches?” Dean shrugged. “You didn’t do the research?” John sounded angry. Dean was starting to get frustrated, he moved his hand like he was asking for a pen. “Sam, grab Dean a pen.” John said.

 

There was shuffling, and then a pen was being pressed into Dean’s dominant hand. Maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult. Dean began to write. Once he was satisfied with the explanation, he turned the paper around to John. John sighed. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I can’t read it.” For a moment, Dean thought John was refusing to read it, so he thrust it forward further until he was pressing the paper into his father’s chest. “Your scrawl isn’t legible on the best of days, but your spacial awareness is shot. I can’t read it Dean.” John said.

 

But then the paper was being taken from Dean’s hand, and Dean’s baby brother was sitting on the arm of the couch right behind Dean with the paper in his hands. Sam coughed. “I think… uh… Dean did the research but all signs pointed to a two person neopagan coven. It looks like the third witch, uh… witch-bitch? was using traditional pagan and demonic magic.” Dean nodded vigourously.

“You can read his chicken scratch Sam?”

“Yessir.”

“Good.” John paused. “Well, I’ll take care of the coven. You boys order a pizza or something.” Dean jumped to his feet, crowding his father with a pained look on his face. Dean grabbed his father’s shirt in his fists. “Dean calm down.” He shook his head rapidly. “You don’t want me to go?” Dean nodded. “Okay. I won’t go. Not until I’m more prepared. Hell, you’re probably right. It’d be safer to go in with more knowledge about what they’re capable of.” Dean let go of John’s shirt and stopped shaking. “I’m hungry.” John declared. Keys were picked up, Dean heard the clinking. And the door opened. But Dean couldn’t remember where the door was.

 

He stood in the middle of the room, floating in the darkness, unable to call out for help. Goddamn fucking Helen witch-bitch.

 

A small hand slid into his. Sam. Dean smiled a little, and then Sam led him out of the door and to the Impala.

 

Usually Dean would ride shotgun, but he didn’t want to let go of Sammy’s hand in case he flew off like an untethered balloon. Sam slid into the back and Dean slid in next to him. And then the Impala drove off.

 

Sam held his hand the whole time, even when the Impala stopped and they all got out. It smelt like pie. Dean smiled and drew the letters for the word _pie?_ into Sam’s hand. Sam laughed. “Yeah, they got pie.” Dean’s smile grew as he let his thirteen year old brother lead him to a booth in the diner.

 

Sam and Dean sat across from their father, still holding hands. A waitress walked up and handed them all menus. She went to hand one to Dean, but he didn’t see it so she just sort of pressed it into the hand he had flat on the table. He took it, but left it on the table in front of him. It wasn’t like he could read it anyway.

 

Sam shuffled closer to Dean in the booth and then turned his head. Dean could feel Sam’s breath on his neck. And Sam began to read the entire menu to him quietly. And when he was done, he unfurled his hand from Dean’s so that Dean could draw the words into his hand. _Burger… Onion rings… Pecan pie._

 

It took a little while, going letter by letter, but he had an effective way of communicating. Dean smiled. The waitress came back, frowning when Sam ordered for Dean.

 

A burger was placed in front of Dean and he allowed himself to guess where it was, the heat drawing his hands in until the food was in his hands. _I can still do stuff for myself!_ Dean thought triumphantly. But his good mood was wiped away when the pecan pie was placed in front of him.

 

Dean searched the table for a fork which he picked up. But that was the easy part. He struggled for ages, trying to get a forkful of pie. And then it took longer to manoeuvre the pie to his mouth. He growled when the weight on the fork disappeared, signalling the pie had fallen. Dean dropped the fork with a clatter onto the plate.

 

Small fingers appeared on his wrists and helped him to pick up the fork, it was swiftly weighed down by pie and then his hands were moved upwards. “Open.” Sam said and he opened his mouth. Pie filled his mouth. They both repeated this until Sam opened Dean’s fingers, removing the fork. The plate was empty.

 

There was a cough from the other side of the booth. “I’m gonna drop you boys off with Bobby.” John declared. “You can’t be on the road hunting if you can’t even feed yourself. Maybe if I can grab the witch we’ll be able to reverse this, but I’m leaving you with Bobby until then.” Dean took Sam’s hand and drew _Helen_ into the skin.

“Is her name Helen?” Sam asked, Dean nodded.

“Helen. Okay. That helps.” And then Sam was pulling Dean to a stand, slipping his fingers into Dean’s hand. The Winchesters left the diner, climbing into the Impala.

 

Sam packed for Dean and himself while Dean hovered.

 

He got used to sensing Sam; the sounds Sam made as he moved, the physical presence of his brother in the room. “C’mon.” Sam said after stilling for a minute. Dean followed him out of the motel. He hung around feeling useless as Sam opened the trunk and threw their duffel bags into it.

“Sioux Falls is only a few hours away.” His younger brother said as they both slid into the back again. Dean hummed. That was something he could do.

 

Sam fell asleep quickly, hand still in Dean’s and head slowly drooping onto Dean’s shoulder. Dean closed his eyes and pulled his brother close, breathing softly and allowing himself to feel the world. The cool metal of the Impala, the soft leather of John’s old jacket on his neck, the warmth of his little brother, the rumble of the car on the road. Dean followed Sam into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**John**

John woke his boys, eyes tired and face drawn. They didn’t deserve any of this. The three of them deserved Mary and they deserved a goddamn apple pie life for the amount of people they’d saved. John should be looking after his son, but instead he was running from the responsibility. Sam woke up first and shook Dean gently. John watched Dean’s eyelids open to reveal the milky globes. He sighed.

 

He hadn’t called ahead, so Bobby wasn’t expecting them. “Sam, take Dean inside. I’ll be in in a minute.” Sam nodded and tugged his older brother out of the car. John headed round the back, where he knew Bobby would be working. “You in here Singer?” He called out when he got into the garage.

“John? That you?” Bobby slid out from under a car.

“Yeah.” John sighed, tired. Bobby noticed his world weary expression and pulled the oldest Winchester into a bear hug. John let go, wrapping his arms tight around Bobby and leaning against him. “I’ve got a real big favour to ask of you Bobby.” John said quietly, eyes pointed to the floor, once they stepped apart.

“Anything.” Bobby said, and John knew he meant it.

“Dean went on his first solo hunt, but it went bad. Like up shit creek without a paddle bad.”

“What happened?” Bobby’s voice was filled with fear. “He’s not dead? Is he?”

“No…” And then under his breath John said “But he might as well be.”

“Then it’s nothing we can’t deal with. What happened John?”

“Witches made him mute and blind. How am I supposed to deal with a Dean that’s so completely unconnected from the world?” John could see from Bobby’s face that he wanted to rip the Winchester a new one. Witches are too unpredictable for a first solo hunt. He should’ve waited until they found something simpler like a lone vampire or a single werewolf.

“You did right by bringing him here. He needs a familiar place, stability. At least until we fix this. I take it you wanna rush back out there.”

“Yes.” John nodded.

“Stay for the night. Leave in the morning rested and fed.”

“I can’t waste any more time Bobby.”

“No arguing. We’ll do some research here if you wanna do something. But if you’re leaving your boys with me, you’re gonna let me take care of you for the night.”

“Yes sir.” John smirked. Bobby kissed the smirk off of John’s face. And then John led Bobby to the house.

 

———

**Dean**

Sam took Dean’s hand as they walked into Bobby’s kitchen. Dean didn’t really need the help to manoeuvre around the house though, because other than the stray piles of books the popped up between visits, he had the layout memorised. Dean dropped Sam’s hand and took a seat at the kitchen table. “How did you-?” Sam said, and it sounded like he took the seat next to Dean. Dean turned his head and smirked at where he thought his brother was sitting, Sam shoved him lightly, chuckling. “It’s cause we’ve been here a lot right?” Dean nodded. “Guess you don’t really need my help then.” Sam said, but there was a sad note in his voice. Dean really wanted to say _I’ll always need you Sammy_ but he couldn’t, so he settled with threading his fingers into Sam’s.

 

The door crashed open loudly and Dean jumped. “Dad and Bobby.” Sam whispered, Dean nodded thanks. Sam’s face turned curious at the smiles on the two men’s faces. He wasn’t sure exactly the relationship between their father and Bobby, but both men seemed happier in each other’s presence.

“Dean…” Bobby said. Dean’s chest felt tight. He wanted to stand and wrap his arms around the man who was basically a second father, but he couldn’t. _Maybe Sam can help._ Dean thought. He began to write the words _Hug Bobby_ into his kid brother’s hand. Dean stood and Sam led him across the room, guiding his hands to Bobby’s chest. Sam let go and Dean wrapped his arms around the older hunter. “Dean.” Bobby said again and held Dean as tightly as he could.

 

The hug went on for longer than Dean would usually have been comfortable with, but then Bobby stepped back. Dean felt rough thumb pads swiping gently across his cheeks, brushing away tears. _Great. I’m turning into a fucking girl too._ Bobby took another step back and Dean felt a small hand slipping into his again. “You boys probably want to get settled in.” Bobby said. “Go on upstairs, John and me’ll bring the bags in.”

“Yessir.” Sam said and then the boys walked up the stairs. They were walking side by side but still holding hands, because even though Dean knew exactly where he was going, he didn’t want to lose the comfort he would never admit holding Sam’s hand was giving him.

 

———

**Sam**

Sam hovered awkwardly outside his door, unsure whether to leave Dean or not. But Dean made that decision for him when he dragged Sammy by the hand into his own room. Dean’s boots made a loud thunk when Dean dropped them, and he pulled his jacket off before falling onto his bed. He sighed in happiness. Sam hovered by the door.

 

When he realised what his brother was probably doing, Dean waved him over and patted the space on his bed. Sam climbed up, losing his boots and jacket too. He clutched Dean’s hand. And they both relaxed.

 

After an indeterminate amount of time, Dean started to draw on Sam’s hand again. _Read to me?_ “Yeah, okay.” Sam stood up, going into his room where he knew he had stashed his favourite copy of George Orwell’s Animal Farm. He was nervous. Would Dean enjoy it as much as he did? Would Sam even be able to get to the good bits before Dean got bored? He pushed his worried out of his mind. If Dean got bored he would find a way to let Sam know, he’d probably end up pushing Sam out of his bed. Sam smiled at the thought of Dean’s personality still being there but him finding other ways to show it.

 

Dean was resting against the headboard as Sam walked in, book clutched against his chest. Sam took the empty spot next to Dean. “This is my favourite book, okay? So don’t make fun of it… at least until I’ve finished it.” Sam said. Dean clutched his hand. _I’d never._ He wrote softly. Sam exhaled and nodded. _Why is it your favourite?_ “It’s about talking animals but it’s also about capitalism and socialism and Russia. It’s as deep as you want it to be.” He settled into the bed and then opened the copy. “Animal Farm by George Orwell.” He began, but stopped when Dean started to write something on his hand again. _1984?_ “Yeah, he wrote that too.” Dean nodded. Sam remembered last year Dean had to read Nineteen-Eighty-Four for one of the classes he was taking at the time. He seemed to enjoy it, as much as Dean could enjoy a book. “Chapter one. Mr Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen−houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the popholes. With the ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door, drew himself a last glass of beer from the barrel in the scullery, and made his way up to bed, where Mrs Jones was already snoring…” Sam read. He kept reading until Dean’s hand went limp in his. Dean breathed softly and Sam realised he had fallen asleep.

 

Sam marked the page and shoved the book under the pillow. He slid down the book and shut his eyes. He fell into a fitful sleep.

 

———

**Dean**

Dean was exhausted, but he enjoyed listening to Sam’s voice paint images of Manor Farm in his mind. Soon he was unconscious.

 

An arm thrust into his face, starling him awake. Dean opened his eyes and began to panic when he couldn’t see anything. He pinned the intruder down. And then his brain caught up. _A witch cursed me. I can’t see. I can’t speak. I fell asleep next to Sam. Sam gets nightmares._ He released his grip on his smaller brother and slapped his face gently.

 

Sam’s reaction was expected. A fist grabbed at his shirt and a knee popped up offensively. But Sam stilled so Dean realised he most likely opened his eyes to see Dean. Sam’s knee fell back to the mattress but his fist was still clutched in Dean’s shirt. He could hear sniffling and felt Sam shaking beneath him. Without thinking, Dean lowered himself on top of his brother, enveloping him, holding him close.

 

Slowly, Sam stopped shaking, and eventually he stopped sniffling too. Dean didn’t want to move though. _Better?_ He wrote into the flesh of Sam’s stomach. Sam squirmed, ticklish. “Yeah.” He breathed out. _Wanna talk about it?_ Dean wrote, this time Sam couldn’t help but laugh and try to push Dean’s hand away. Dean smiled wide. “No.” Dean’s smile fell. At this Sam couldn’t help but feel guilty. “Do you… do you think we’re gonna be hunters forever?” Sam asked scared. _No._ Dean wrote. Sam didn’t squirm this time, just thought.

 

He considered Dean’s certainty, not knowing that it stemmed from Dean’s belief that he couldn’t be fixed and his desire to get Sam out of the life.

 

 _Time?_ Dean wrote, this time on Sam’s hand, after a little while. Sam turned. “Seven. I think I can smell dinner.” Dean laughed noiselessly when Sam clambered out of the bed. Dean followed. True to his word, Dean started to be able to smell steak sizzling. He licked his lips as they trekked into Bobby’s kitchen. “Evenin’ boys. Want some food?”

“Yeah Bobby, smells great.” Sam sighed happily, dragging Dean to the table. “Did dad leave already?” He asked, Dean’s body tightened at the thought of being a burden John wanted to ditch as soon as he could.

“No, he’s doing some research in my office.” Bobby said with a happy lilt.

“Oh.” Sam smiled and Dean relaxed.

“You wanna beer Dean?” Bobby asked. Dean nodded and he heard the fridge open and a bottle fizz as the top was pulled off. The cold bottle was being pressed into his hand and Dean nodded to where he thought Bobby would be standing.

 

He took a long swig. It tasted really good.

 

Boots stomped in. _John._ Dean thought. He set his beer down. John noticed and turned to his eldest son. “Nothing yet. But uh… don’t lose hope.” John said, grabbing a beer for himself. _Too late for that. Helen’s probably the only thing that can fix me and she’s more stubborn than you are, dad. That witch-bitch’ll never help me out._ But instead of getting Sam to recite his thoughts, Dean just nodded. Better to give the appearance of not having lost hope. “Good.” John said, dropping into a chair at the table.

“Don’t you be putting your feet up on my table John Winchester!” Bobby yelled from the other side of the room. John didn’t say anything, but Dean heard his boots clatter to the floor. He stifled a laugh. Dean didn’t think anyone could get away with bossing his dad around. But apparently Bobby Singer could.

“You’re running a little low on beer there Bobby. Maybe we should send Dean out to get some more.” John said without thinking. The atmosphere did a complete one-eighty, going from happy and teasing to solemn with John’s statement. You could hear a pin drop. Sam squeezed Dean’s wrist to check if he was okay.

 

Dean took Sam’s palm and began to write. It was the most he had ever written so he took it slow. _Maybe they’d take pity on me and not check my ID_ Dean smiled. Sam relayed his comment and John exhaled. “You have a fake ID Dean.” Sam said under his breath. _I know_ Dean wrote, acknowledging that what he said was only to get rid of the tension. Sam nodded, grateful.

 

Moment forgotten, Bobby pushed a plate in front of each Winchester boy. Dean felt Sam lean over and heard the scrape of knife on plate as Sam cut up the steak for Dean. It was embarrassing as hell for his thirteen year old brother to be cutting up his food for him, but it might’ve been more embarrassing for him to attempt to do it himself. So Dean let his baby brother cut up his food. When Sam was done, he pressed the cutlery into Dean’s hands and allowed him to try to eat himself.

 

Dean was much better this time. It seemed like his spatial awareness was getting better. It helped that he knew the environment; knew exactly how high Bobby’s kitchen table was, and knew where his mouth would be. There was only a little mashed potato on the side of his face when he was finished. _Achievement unlocked: Managed to feed yourself without dropping anything._ He thought bitterly. Was this going to be his life now? Feeling good and then frustrated at being able to do the simplest things without any help. And technically he had help because Sam had cut his steak and Bobby had made it.

 

———

**Sam**

At Dean’s frown, Sam considered what he was thinking about. Sure it must be hard for Dean to accept help, but it wasn’t going to be permanent. John would find a way to fix Dean and then Dean could go back to flirting with pretty girls and ignoring his annoying little brother. Sam’s mood turned sullen.

 

He really didn’t like imagining his brother with someone else.

 

Is that wrong? Should he feel disgusting and sinful? Sam thought not. It wasn’t like he was going to do anything, or say anything to Dean. He just liked to pretend that maybe Dean loved him a little more than he actually did. And when they fell asleep together, Sam felt loved and protected. That’s what Dean meant to him, blind and mute or not. Dean was his and he was Dean’s.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean**

Dean pushed out from the table, the chair scraping painfully against the floor making both Sam and Bobby wince. Dean stood abruptly and guided himself out from behind the table. Despite both of their bad moods, Sam tried to take his hand but Dean dropped it like it burned. _Sorry Sammy, I just want to be alone right now._ Dean wanted to say. He wanted to reassure his brother that it wasn’t Sam, it was him. But Dean couldn’t speak so he reached up and cupped Sam’s cheek. Sam leant into the touch and nodded as if he understood. And then Dean stepped back, and held his arms out in front of him, just in case. He made a beeline for the door.

 

As Dean pushed the door open, he felt the coolness of the night on his skin and automatically looked up. Where he would usually see the moon and stars, he saw nothing. Blackness. And it made him want to throw something because he couldn’t see good things like stars or pie or Sam’s smile, and he couldn’t see the bad things to protect them.

 

Right as Dean stepped out of Bobby’s house, his foot hit something. It caught and he propelled into the dirt floor. He grunted as he collided with the ground. _I guess this is my life now because I’m sure as hell not getting up._ Dean turned his head so he could breathe, and then he just laid on the dirt. There wasn’t much point in standing up because it wasn’t like he could do anything outside without getting lost and he sure as hell didn’t want to go back inside.

 

Dean sighed against the cold floor. It felt good, stable. He wasn’t going to fall because he’d already hit rock bottom. Both metaphorically and literally. There was no getting worse from here, which comforted him because it meant that everything would get better. So maybe John would find a way to fix him, or maybe not. But Dean knew that even if he was stuck like this forever, he still had Sammy.

**Sam**

There was an almighty crash just as Dean left. Sam started to run outside, but Bobby grabbed his arm stopping him. “Let me go. Dean could be hurt.”

“He wants to be alone, Goose. He’ll be mad if you go out and help him.” Sam nodded as Bobby spoke, of course he was right. Dean was stubborn if nothing else. The first time Bobby called Sam ‘Goose’, Sam’s brain broke. Bobby was asking him a question and he couldn’t do anything but fumble over the answer. He liked the term of endearment though, even if it did stump him.

“I’m gonna go unpack.” Sam said, dropping his and Dean’s plates into the sink. He stomped up the stairs, Bobby calling after him.

“Pick up your feet boy.” Knowing full well that Sam was stomping on purpose and not because he was dragging his feet.

“Sorry Bobby.” Sam called down and headed for the duffel that had appeared on his bed. As he began pulling clothes from the bag, he heard footsteps behind him. “Bobby?” He asked without turning around, but there was no answer. Sam whipped his head to see. Dean was standing there, all covered in dirt and holding onto the doorframe. He crossed the room and rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You look like you rolled around in the mud.” Sam wiped a smudge from Dean’s forehead. Dean smirked. “You did!” Sam said accusingly, and Dean nodded. “You need a shower.” Dean nodded again. “C’mon.” Sam took Dean’s hand and led him to the shared bathroom in the hall.

 

Bobby already had clean towels set out, _when did he do that?_ Sam thought. He dropped Dean’s hand and leant over to turn the shower on. “Towel’s here.” Sam moved back and pressed Dean’s hand on the towel that was on the rail next to the shower. “You good from here?” He asked, but Dean shook his head. “What? Was there something else?” Dean shook his head again. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” Sam swallowed. Dean stepped forward, crowding into Sam’s personal space. He raised his arm slowly and traced the word _‘help’_ on his younger brother’s bare collarbone. Sam’s breath hitched and Dean smirked. “Right. Uh… you should probably get undressed and then I can help you into the shower.”

 

As Dean began to strip, Sam tried to avert his eyes. But then he realised that Dean wouldn’t be able to tell if he was staring or not, so he allowed himself the pleasure. Sam flicked his eyes over the bare patch of golden skin that covered Dean’s hip. And then he watched Dean’s hand trail upwards, pulling his shirt off over his head. The clothing dropped to the floor and Dean’s hands moved down and began unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans.

 

Sam’s eyes widened in fear. His heart beat violently. His tongue felt too big in his mouth. And his limbs froze. And then Dean was standing naked.

 

When Sam’s body started working again, he coughed and then leant over to turn the water on. Sam took Dean’s arm and they shuffled over to the shower. Right as Dean felt the water on him, he turned back and pulled on his younger brother’s clothes. “I can’t get in with you, that’s too weird.” Sam complained, but Dean was persistently tugging at the material. “It’s fine, we’re brothers.” He muttered under his breath. Sam stripped, but left his boxers on and stepped into the shower with Dean.

 

It was awkward at first, Dean just stood there and Sam couldn’t move too much without touching him. But then Sam decided to just go with it. He picked up a bottle of shampoo and squirted some into his palm. Dean’s chest moved like he was laughing. “I’m washing my hair.” Sam said defensively, a blush rising to colour his cheeks. He lathered up his hair and began scrubbing softly.

 

**Dean**

Once they were both finished washing, Dean rested his hand on Sam’s slick shoulder and waited until he felt Sam step away from the shower. The water turned off, and Dean moved with Sam. He felt a towel being wrapped around his shoulders. Dean used his free hand to clutch the two corners, holding it in place. “I need to go grab a second towel and some pajamas. Hold back here.” Sam said as Dean’s hand fell from his shoulder. Sam left the bathroom.

 

While he was gone, Dean began to dry himself carefully. His feet were wet and the floor was slippery, so he had to be cautious or he’d end up with a concussion knowing his luck.

 

Sam came back in after a few minutes. “I can practically hear you screaming about codependency.” Sam chuckled as he lead Dean to his bedroom. “You want me to stay with you tonight?” Dean wanted to say yes, that there was almost nothing he wanted more. But the way Sam had phrased it made it sound like Dean was a frightened child. He wasn’t, he was four years older than Sam. Dean shook his head. “Oh.” If Dean didn’t know better, he would’ve said that Sam was hurt. “Sure. I’ll be next door if you need anything.” Dean heard Sam going into his own room.

 

Dean grabbed at the t-shirt and boxers Sam had left on his bed, and pulled them on. Thank God for labels on the inside neck of shirts. If they weren’t there, Dean could be running around, well walking very slowly, with his shirt on inside out and back to front.

 

With little else to do, Dean climbed into bed. He got to thinking about what he would do with all his spare time now he couldn’t hunt. _They make audiobooks on tape right? Maybe I’ll send Sam out to find some._ And then Dean tried to come up with a better way to talk to Sam. Sign language could possibly work. It’d be a bitch to learn, but if he got Sam’s help Sam could manipulate his hands until he could do it himself. And then he could speak whole sentences if Sam learnt how to translate it at the same time. It could definitely work. That is if John came back without a fix.

 

Dean began to imagine a life outside ‘the life’ where Sam could go to the local school and Dean could do… he’d figure that out later. But they could stay with Bobby while John went off hunting. They could learn to be civilians. Dean would make sure they learnt how to be civilians. Sometime while imagining what their life could be, Dean drifted off to sleep.

 

It was really hot. And Dean was being weighed down by something. He glanced his hand across the dead weight. It was Sam. As Dean pushed himself up off the bed, Sam pulled him back down and tucked his head into Dean’s neck. _Resistance is futile._ Dean smirked and pulled the covers off of himself to combat the extra heat.

 

Dean could feel warm stripes on his face, the sun coming through the blinds. He didn’t know exactly what time it was, but it was morning.

 

Sam stirred after another hour. “Oh, sorry.” He peeled himself away from Dean. “I would’ve asked you if this was okay, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I had a nightmare.” Sam said. _Wanna talk?_ Dean traced on Sam’s arm. “There was this blonde girl.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows, making Sam laugh. “But she was dragged up onto the ceiling by this invisible force, and she started bleeding through her stomach like she was stabbed. I was laying on the bed under her so some of her blood dripped onto me. And then she was on fire.” Dean froze. _Mom?_ He wrote. “No, she didn’t look like mom, she looked younger. It wasn’t mom.” Dean lifted his hand and stroked Sam’s cheek, trying to comfort him. Sam stilled before he gave in and leant into Dean’s touch.

 

Dean pulled away and let his head drop back onto the pillow. He desperately wanted to tell Sam how he really felt, but even if he could he was too scared.

 

“We’re gonna be okay.” Sam said out of nowhere. “Even if there’s no cure, we’ll be okay. We can stay here and we’ll take care of each other and be okay.” Dean nodded gently and reached out to hold Sam’s hand. They laid on the bed in silence until they both fell asleep again, determined and hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while but I finally finished this, thank God. I'm gonna see if I can finish the rest of my fics; I feel like doing a purge of unfinished works.


End file.
